


Don’t Let’s Start (Chains Are Broken)

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Aged-Up Character(s), Bigotry, Bullshit business, Canon-Typical Violence, Discrimination, F/M, M/M, Medium Burn, Mutants, Once again taz inspires my titles, Prejudice, Slight Canon Divergence, Slight OOC, Slow Burn, Species racism?, They really are ninjas, also splinter doesn’t suck he’s just lazy, and adjusted their personalities accordingly, donny is sassy, i can’t tag stuff bc spoilers ACK, i will list their ages in the first chapter uwu thank you, idk what that would be called, slight ooc in that they’re adults and I’ve added lore to their stories, they are official heroes now and also sassy, you have THREE hands, you smooch all the boys but Mikey is so mcfuckin young so he’s off limits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: Your first thought was “this is coming out of my paycheck.” Your second thought was “I own this place, this is coming out of April’s paycheck!” and then your third thought was to scream, because there’sfour giant turtles in your back room. What the fuck.





	1. Chapter One: Bitter Water

**Author's Note:**

> Raph: 22  
> Donnie: 20  
> Leo: 19  
> Mikey: 18  
> You: early 20s  
> April: 19
> 
> Anyway! Hey, this is my first ROTTMNT fic! I aged them up because i didn’t want to write about underage smoochies and mutation. And it gives me more liberty w the characters. Feel free to correct me, but actually don’t because it hurts my feelings. Be super nice. I am a box, labeled fragile.
> 
> I’m an unreliable writer and will only go as far as my spontaneous burst of energy will take me. Expect nothing and take what you get.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I will try my best to update but it sounds like school is going to kick my ass this year :P
> 
> I’m a bit scatterbrained, so if you think I should tag something tell me! Yell it directly in my face or I will forget. It’s not you, it’s me.
> 
> I promise the story will get less silly. I wanted to keep the fun nature of ROTTMNT while also being adultish and serious and cool. I was just writing whatever came to mind and then I was like, hey, people might like to read this! Better clamp down on the stream of consciousness and make this less terrible.
> 
> Note: I’ve redone chapter one. Wooo!

Truthfully, your meeting of the turtles was entirely an accident. April was shit at hiding them when she thought she was alone, so you sticking your keys in the lock (April was opening, the door _definitely_ shouldn’t have been locked) and looking up to see four turtles munching on some food wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your first thought was “this is coming out of my paycheck.” Your second thought was “I _own_ this place, this is coming out of _April’s_ paycheck!” and then your third thought was to scream shrill and loud, because there’s _four giant turtles in your back room._ What the _fuck._

You could hardly call them _turtles._ They were taller than men, wider than men, with three fingers and masks tied across their face and scars littering their arms and legs and thighs. But they had shells, and in the case of the red one a jagged, spiky shell, scratching lines into your poor, poor countertop. It didn’t deserve that. You could only assume by their green skin and the markings (oh, and also the giant fucking shells) that they really were turtles. Turtle men. Scary amalgamations of both.

Bizarrely, April was just _sitting there_ on your counter, just frowning— calm as day, looking _mildly disappointed_ of all things. “This is crazy!” you shouted, brandishing a broom you had haphazardly snatched from beside the door. “Who— Who are you people? April, you’ve got three seconds to explain yourself, or—“

“What, I’m fired?” She sighed, hoisting herself off the counter. Her sigh is long suffering and audibly exhausted, but the type of exhaustion that comes from doing the same thing nine times over. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“No,” you nearly hissed, eyes narrowing. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, clumsily maneuvering your broom to face her. “or I call the police.”

The four turtles plus April exchanged a—surprised?!— look, then the purple one narrowed their eyes and in a flash your phone was sparking dead and broken to the wall, a fucking shuriken sticking out of it. _Christ._

“My... phone...” All your energy slumped out of you in a flash as you cradled the broken remnants of what used to be your phone. Your jaw dropped so low you could already imagine the fly real estate rising. “What the fuck,” you whispered. “what the _fuck.”_

“Donnie!” April chastised, and you were way too in shock to register the name of Ninja number one. God forbid any of the rest of this ragtag team have weapons on them. You don’t think you’d know what to do if one of them lobbed a knife at you. (As if them suddenly delving into the realm of worldly weapons rather than something you would have seen on TV would be any less bizarre.) 

“Sorry, but we can’t have you calling the police.” You looked back to see him grimace, as if he was regretting the tragic loss of your several hundred dollar phone you hadn’t finished paying off yet. Damn him. “Uh, and sorry about your phone. I panicked.”

“You _panicked?!”_ You shot up off the ground before even thinking about it, marching right up to this... this... guy, ignoring the fact that he had a good several inches on you and his biceps are _huge_ (and he’s making this face, that manages to make him look shocked and disdainful yet attractive at the same time. A blush heats your cheeks, and you pray they mistake it for something else.).

“Panicking means you completely _shatter my phone?_ That’s not panicking!” Your voice was reaching decibels it’d never reached before. You were positive your vocal chords were gonna be shredded after this. “This is panicking! How are you gonna pay for all this, huh? You got a job breaking people’s stuff? April, why are you bringing…” You spluttered, trying to find an appropriate and nice adjective, in case everybody in this room happened to have a certain degree of crazy that would result in more mayhem and possibly some bloodshed. “ _vandals_ into my store?”

Purple Guy—Donnie— looked slightly bewildered as you stomped up to him but then his face smoothed out into indifference, eyebrows raised in a manner one could only describe as condescending as he gently pushed you to the side to go dig your phone out the wall. “Well, I can fix your phone, but—“

“But you gotta promise not to tell anybody we exist!” The orange one said around a mouthful of food. _Your_ food. You mourned the loss of your stock. Also, fantastic; you just happened to meet the only mutants in the entire city without manners. They’re cute, but not so cute that you could ignore their bad manners. 

You’re just about to tell them off when the blue one scrunches their nose and tells him not to speak with his mouth full “cuz that’s gross.” Gross. Sure. It was now your turn to sigh long-sufferingly. April has passed you the metaphorical torch, and it’s currently burning your fingers pitch black.

The red one was just watching with a big smile on his face. And a fist full of food also. God, you can just... _see_ the money going down the drain and into the mouths of these things.

“You people are mutants, aren’t you?” You could hardly stop the wave of fear from bleeding into your words as you eyed them suspiciously, eyed their shells and fingers and masks. And even through your anxiety you could see them flinch at _mutant,_ flinch at the burning terror simmering below the surface. “There’s a reward for people like you.”

“Awfully bold of you to assume you’ll be able to turn us in,” the blue one mumbled. Just as you were about to say something else, April stepped in, waving her hands placatingly.

“Look, Boss, they’re just hungry, alright? Swear I’ll pay for it all. April Promise.”

Hungry, huh? It never occurred to you that mutants might be hungry. And that’s why you opened this place anyway, so nobody would end up like… well, like you did.

Ah. It would be unlike you to turn away people in need, even if they were mutants.

“Well, if they’re hungry, they probably shouldn’t be eating...” You took a look at the scattered packages. “...Chunko Pops. What the hell even are these, April? I don’t remember adding them to inventory.”

Suddenly she looked sheepish, and sheepish still when you leveled her with a glare. “Yeah, I may have uh, added some things in for my turtle friends.”

Drily, you responded, “We’re going to have to talk later.” She nodded vigorously, and with a roll of your eyes you turned to your... new friends. You resisted the urge to panic. 

“Well, uh, welcome to _Llena de Culpa,_ where we have all your guilty pleasures. Let me find you something more... suited to your tastes.” You give a shaky smile. “April, keep the door shut for another half hour or until I come back. Whichever comes first. And clean up this mess!” 

You motioned to Donnie to follow. He seemed like the leader of the group, and maybe he’ll feel privy to giving you some information. While you are rightfully afraid of Mutants, you’re also very curious. You never had the opportunity to be friends with one, what with heaps and heaps of laws that borderline segregation— and while you may be afraid of them, you can’t help but feel that such regulation rightfully leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. There’s no room for either Mutants or people to learn about each other, and that certainly heightens tensions between the two groups. 

There’s a tremor running through your whole body as you lead him to the back room, and you steel yourself so as not to come across as afraid. They seem like kind Mutants, and if April trusts them, so do you.

——

”Is this all you people eat? Sweets?” You gestured towards the grand array of candies and pastries Donnie picked out from the junk shelf with great skepticism. You could hardly believe any species, even Mutants, could survive solely on sugar. Sure, their physiology may have changed when they mutated, but they’re still based on animals…

“Stop calling us ‘you people,’” he huffed. (You try to hide your cringe as best you can; it never occurred to you how that sounded until it left someone else’s mouth). “and to our credit, I grabbed a bag of Cheese Puffs.”

You could feel your arteries clogging just looking at the options. 

Although… you’d have to kick April’s ass to heaven and back for wasting money on this stuff. You knew it was suspicious when she asked if she could order stock for this week, but you had wanted to trust her and so you did. That backfired, clearly.

With great restraint, you managed to keep your face from meeting your hand in the most exhausted facepalm since 2009. “Yeah, uh, no. We’re... we’re getting something else. Put all of this—“ at Donnie’s puppy dog face, which was surprisingly cute for someone like him, you relented— “ _some_ of this back. You don’t have any dietary specifications, do you? I dunno what turtles are allergic to. Or can— uh, digest.” 

A thinly veiled “I never owned them as pets,” rests on your tongue, and a little bit of shame turns your face pink. 

He shrugged. “None that I know of. Haven’t died so far.” He shoots you a grin, but it doesn’t feel real.

You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. His aloof nature made him seem... dangerous. Like if you stepped out of line he wouldn’t hesitate to make your life worse. With a quiet gulp you made your way down the giant shelves of foodstuffs, heading towards fresher produce.

Donnie noticed your fear, of course. He always did. It didn’t help that your shoulders were nearly reaching your ears and he was scowling like a motherfucker and didn’t feel particularly inclined to help you relax at all, but he knew if he wanted this to go well he had better do something. 

_She’s cute when she’s mad,_ he rather suddenly thinks, snickering lightly as he remembers your earlier panic. You’re too small to be considered any sort of threat to him, but you were certainly brave enough to get up in his face. You’re funny, at least, so you’ve got that going for you.

Donnie gears himself up, rolling his shoulders slyly. His lips twitch up into a smirk, and he slides on up to you, feet dragging along the linoleum tiles. He’s got a plan. It’s a shot in the dark, but you _are_ a cook, so food based flirts are bound to amuse you to some extent, and hopefully they’ll come across as so ridiculous that you’ll laugh instead of mace him. His eyes burn in phantom pain as he remembers the _last_ girl, who didn’t find them so amusing.

“Hey,” he says, ignoring the way you jumped a little. At least you were sheepish about it. “If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.”

There is a heavy, pregnant pause, where even Donnie begins doubting his excellent pick up lines, and sweat starts to bead on the back of his neck. He can’t believe he blew the fish out of the water so _quickly._ “Um—“

You gave him a bizarre look before bursting out in raucous laughter, and Donnie would’ve marveled at how quickly the tension drained out of your body if you weren’t already busting his chops with a joke of your own.

“I know you’re not on my grocery list, but I’m checking you out.” He watches you smile, clearly thinking this situation is absurd. But you laugh and maneuver your way down the aisles, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

He can’t help but smile himself. “I’m not good at cooking, so we should go out sometime.” 

“Are you from Starbucks? ‘Cause I like you a latte.” 

“Hershey factories make a million kisses a day, but I’m only asking for one.” He taps his cheek for good measure, and you blow him one before dancing away, giggling. 

You chase each other like this, one pick up line after another, growing closer and closer until you’re leaning against each other as you laugh. 

“Um…” Donnie says, a pensive look on his face. “If I were a watermelon, would you spit or swallow my—“ 

Donnie catches himself before he can finish the sentence, blushing a terrible, terrible pink, embarrassment crawling up his throat as he trips over himself to apologize. “No! Uh, I didn’t mean it like that, I just really wasn’t thinking—“ 

You raised an eyebrow at him before answering slyly, “Swallow.” 

He’s blushing, stuttering his way through incredulity, and hardly finished before you grip his chin lightly and say with a grin, “Wanna find out for sure?” 

You watch Donnie’s jaw all but hit the floor and suppress a giggle. Maybe it’s wrong of you to be flirting with him so quickly, but he did start it and you were having fun together. 

Also, it’s cute to watch him blush. 

“I’m sorry about your phone,” he blurts, because if you keep looking at him with that little smirk he might combust and lose his title as the coolest turtle in existence. Metaphorically, of course, as he is cold blooded, and also starting to feel really warm under his shell. 

“Is— is it hot in here to you?” He stammers, pulls on the lip of his shell and— there it goes. His title. It’s flown out the door alongside his dignity. He prays whoever finds his beloved Cool Guy Title treats it better than he did. 

“No.” Your smirk has grown into a small little grin now, but you’re still uncomfortably close to his face, and he chuckles nervously and slides away. 

Your hand drops down to your side as Donnie moves away from you. Did you overstep his boundaries? Anxiety crackles in your stomach, and your gaze flits over him, checking him for signs of discomfort. He does seem out of his depth, floundering and fumbling as he speaks. You’re not really listening to what he’s saying; it’s something about how he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable (which, wow. You _have_ to laugh) but your gaze is catching like hooks along his scars, rippling along his skin like tiger stripes. Some are long and thin, or thick and wide, and one around his forearm is two small punctures. There’s even a very small one under his jaw. 

Something soft and heavy rests in your stomach, turning your limbs blue. You walk towards him, eyebrows furrowed, and trace his arm quietly. Donnie shuts his mouth so quickly it clicks, and he asks nervously, “Uh… are you alright?” 

What could have happened to these boys to— to give them so many scars? All this pain? Your throat constricts all of a sudden as you ask tightly, “Do you all look like this?” Your thumb presses on the thinnest of scars, wrapping around his forearm like a vice. “With all the cuts, I mean.” 

Donnie rubs the back of his neck absentmindedly. “Um… yeah. We— we do a lot of fighting.” 

When you look up at him, your eyes are watering. He doesn’t know why you feel so strongly about them, about this, about _him._ Donnie almost prefers the flirtatious look in your eye as opposed to this wide, vulnerable one, twisted up with emotion. 

And when you look up at him like that, exposed like a livewire, he wants to protect you. 

He sweeps you up into his arms. “It’s— it’s okay.” He’s never been good at this emotions thing, and he doesn’t really know what to say. His motions are mechanical and awkward, but they seem to suit you, because you cling tightly to his swordstrap, rubbing the old fabric between your fingers. 

“I just don’t like it when people get hurt,” you mumble to his chest. 

He nods as if he understands. His entire life has been getting hurt; he never really stopped to think if he minded or not.

”I’m sorry,” your voice is even quieter now. “for you getting hurt. And for saying you people. And calling you Mutants like that.” 

Jeez. He hopes you aren’t sniffling all over his weapons pouch. “It’s fine.”

”Really?” You’re so relieved and your voice is so watery Donnie doesn’t even make fun of you when it breaks. 

He nods until he remembers you can’t see him. “Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s— let’s keep going, though. I’m kind of hungry.” And, bless whoever’s up there, his stomach chooses that time to growl, and your adorable little giggle is back. You untangle yourself from him and for a moment, Donnie is relieved; and then he feels a surge of disappointment, and all he can feel is the warmth of you in his arms.

—  
Four turtles crowded around your living room while you worked steadily in the kitchen.

It’s not as if this was a sudden decision. You have your reasons. They mostly revolve around making friends and showing off, but still.

First and foremost, you wanted to impress them with your cooking skills (after the laws the city implemented, it’s not very often you get to meet four crime fighting turtles… Or any mutants at all), secondly, you _really_ wanted to see Donnie again, and third, the cooking gave you time to think.

Turning them in would be a terrible idea. Vigilantes are illegal in general in New York; _mutant_ vigilantes are doubly so. But they’re clearly skilled fighters, considering how quickly Donnie demolished your phone. Plus, they’re April’s friends and she’s a good worker. 

Hopefully, Donnie is your friend now too.

Being on their bad side would probably spell trouble for you in the future; not that avoiding trouble should be your motivation for doing good, in any case. 

There’s also the pity. Fear, yes, because your only experience with Mutants have either been mild haranguing— Mutants and people aren’t exactly friends, and one is liable to get hurt if they wind up in the wrong part of town for either species— muggings, or the one occasion you were beating a hippo with your frog umbrella while crying really loudly over your dog. Why he wanted it, you have no idea. That isn’t to say there aren’t nice mutants, you just… really haven’t met any. 

But the pity is driving you to take them in, and feed them, and give them a home in spite of that, of the present danger. You don’t doubt they have one (probably provided by the city), but the Mutant sectors of New York are slummish and dirty. They can’t stay in your sector past curfew anyway, but laws can and should be bended. 

You don’t think they’re particularly care about the law anyway. 

There’s also your curiosity. Reptilian mutants don’t wander the sectors more densely populated with humans for… safety reasons, of course. They're interesting looking, and beautiful in their own right, intimidatingly so. Donnie…

Your face flushes as you think about Donnie’s body again.

Decision made and meal done, you turn the stove off and wash your hands before walking into the living room, where you see everybody but Mikey and Raph sitting stiffly on your couch. Donnie smiles softly when he sees you, and you smile back. The former two have clearly made themselves at home. You suppress a small smile when you see Mikey fiddling around with your controllers, a look of intense concentration on his face. 

“I love that game,” you said, sitting down beside him. “I’ve clocked a lot of hours on it.”

Mikey gave you a side glance before smiling back at you just a little. “Is it any fun?”

You gave a snort. “I sure hope so. I’ve spent so much time on it. So, to play, you just—“

“What’s that smell?” Leo spoke so suddenly you couldn’t stop yourself from jumping. He looked stiff as a board and even though he was smiling, there was something static about it. It was all teeth.

“Uh, just… Ratatouille, actually? I was watching the movie the other day and—“

Mikey’s eyes grew wide and you could’ve sworn you saw them sparkle (literally sparkle) before he blurted, “I _love_ that movie! Can we eat it? Can we eat it now?”

With Mikey’s enthusiasm came Raph’s interest, and Leo and Donnie’s apprehension (which surprised you; you thought you and Donnie had been making some progress). “Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that—“ Leo started, but Mikey interrupted with a small, “Leo, I’m hungry,” and you could see him cave. You suppress the urge to coo over how cute that was.

“Well, we do, uh, have things to talk about, so… I figured we could do it over a meal?” You rocked on the balls of your feet, suddenly feeling nervous. “I mean, uh, you guys were eating a lot of my food and I didn’t do all this cooking for nothing, so… Let’s eat.”

Mikey’s excitement looked nigh uncontainable as he shot to his feet, a big smile on his face. “Dinner is served!”

“Hey now,” you chuckle, catching him by the elbow. “Clean up this mess in here first. _Then_ we can eat.”

Mikey turned his puppy-turtle eyes on you. “Do I haaaave to? I’m hungry now.”

 _Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it,_ you chant, almost, _almost_ relenting seeing his wide doe eyes turned on you, and the pitiful expression on his face. But you held fast.

“Yes, you absolutely have to.” Your voice is surprisingly firm, and you glow minutely with pride. “You gutted my poor shelf and now you’ve gotta clean up after yourself.”

He groaned but stomped towards his mess, forlornly picking up after himself. Donnie snickers to your left and you shoot him a bemused glance, mouthing, “Kids, am I right?” with a smile.

He nods in perfect agreement and you laugh.

“What are you, our mom?” Raph snorts from behind you, ruffling the top of your head gently.

“Keep it up and you’ll be grounded,” you muttered. Raph guffawed and gave you a noogie for good measure.  
——  
You thought that dinner with the turtles would be awkward, but you didn’t think it would be _this_ awkward.

You can admit that you aren’t quite playing your part, because despite Mikey’s comforting chatter the other three turtles were really hiking up your nerves. For the most part, they weren’t really saying anything other than exchanging loaded glances with each other— though, occasionally Donnie would throw a wink your way, while Raph would just smile and wave cheerily. 

“So. About the restaurant. I will totally let you guys hang out there before and after hours. You just can’t eat my food without paying. I am still running a business, after all. Unless I’m like, hey, whatever, in which case it doesn't matter.“

“Why?” Leo interjected, looking as tense as possible in such a lax position.

“Why… what?”

“Why let us stay?”

Neck prickling, you sat up straighter. You felt like he was interrogating you. “I… I know what it’s like to be hungry. I don’t want anyone to feel the way I did.”

“How noble of you.” Leo mumbles.

“Yeah, well.” Somehow you couldn’t stop yourself from sounding bitter. Somehow you couldn’t quite relax. “Don’t want anybody to go through what I did.”

Raph shifted and caught your attention. God, he was so big. At least he was being careful not to scratch up your chair. It was fascinating to watch him seat himself so carefully; just when you thought you couldn’t take the silence, he burst into a raucous laugh, reaching over to pat you hard on the back. “Can I have seconds? You’re a good cook.”

Wow, that wasn’t what you were expecting. It almost makes up for the ache in your shoulder!

“Uh, yeah,” you smile, feeling a little bit elated. So far things aren’t terrible. If he wants seconds, maybe you’re the only one feeling uncomfortable. You grab his plate and head back to the kitchen to get him a second helping.

The second you disappear around the corner, Raph leans into the table and says, “I think we should trust her.”

Mikey nods his approval, scooping some food into his mouth. “She’s nice!”

Donnie scoffs. “You two will fall for anybody who feeds you once. Just because she’s nice doesn’t mean she can’t be dangerous.”

Raph very thinly veils his scowl. “She’s just a human! Nice humans tend to be weak anyway.”

“He’s not talking about power, Raph.” Leo shakes his head and heaves a sigh. “The police? Remember just earlier this morning?”

“Yeah, but then she said she wouldn’t call the police,” Mikey pointed out. (Donnie bit his tongue to keep from blurting that’s only because he destroyed your phone. He, admittedly, doesn’t want to screw the pooch with you.) “I think she was just scared.”

Raph jumps in right after, looking more and more intense by the second. “And she invited us over right after to give us food, _and_ she says we can stay in the shop. She’s offering us _protection.”_

“For how long?” Leo interjects, an equally intense look on his face. “When does it stop being beneficial for her to keep us around? When does protection become just another way for us to get caught?”

“He’s right,” Donnie begrudgingly admits. “I like her too, but…” His voice trails off, an uncomfortable look on his face.

Raph and Mikey exchange a look. Neither of them seem to know what to say for a second before Mikey speaks up. “We take that risk with April every day,” he says, voice soft. “we can take this risk with her.”

Leo looks pained, just for a minute, and then you sweep back in the room. “Sorry it took me so long, guys.” You give them a smile and Raph his plate. “April called and said she was coming over. Anyway, where were we?”

Leo heaves a great sigh and all the tension drains out with him. “We can stay in your store.”

“Oh, yeah!” You perked up. “So here are the rules…”  
——  
Together, you all got everything set in stone. They know your store is available before opening and after closing. If they need food ask _you,_ not April. Your doors are just as open as the store (you were secretly (maybe not so secretly) hoping they would visit). You were not to tell anybody about the turtles and if someone came for you they’d help you out.

And they didn’t say it, but you knew there would be consequences if you _did_ snitch.

April swung by as promised, and you got the pleasure of chewing her out in your guest room about what was technically _theft._ “No more unauthorized purchases on company money,” you had said, satisfied when April looked appropriately disciplined. “I want to keep paying you all like I am. I can’t do that if you’re blowing the budget on junk food for your friends.”

She scuffed her foot on the carpet. “Sorry, Boss.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

April turned on her heel, ready to head out.

“Hey, April?”

“Yeah?” She lingered by the door, a questioning look on her face.

“...I don’t think they trust me.” You admitted, feeling awkward. “They’re not very good at whispering.”

Her face pinched for a moment before smoothing out into a sympathetic smile. “They aren’t as open as they used to be, before they became heroes. It’s—“ she sighed. “It’s not your fault. Some things happened, and…”

“The mayor happened?” You guessed. You wouldn’t be happy either after all the legislation passed in the past few years.

“Yeah.” April nodded, biting her lip. “But some other stuff too. ‘S not my place to tell. You gotta let them open up on their own, y’know?” 

“...I guess.”

April gave you a sort of look before holding her hand out. “A good way to start would be to get them to know you. Can’t do that all cooped up in here, right? And besides…” she grins wickedly, reaching for your hand. “Donnie really likes you.”

Anxiety— and embarrassment— thrummed under your skin. This could either go really right, or really wrong. Gently, you took her hand.

It’s a risk. A big one, a dangerous one, one that could change your world and make it wonderful.

And just like any other risk, you’ll have to take it.


	2. Chapter Two: Cold is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looks up at the moon later that night, all he can think of is you.

Weeks passed; the turtles steadily became regulars in your household. 

They knew where everything was— especially Mikey, who was the most awful of snoops— they slept soundly on your couches and sofa, they pranked you in your kitchen, they laughed and played and hugged you so tight you wished they’d never let you go.

Today was a particularly long day. You had long since fallen asleep, apparently wiped out after a day of kicking ass at video games (Leo would later admit you had gained his begrudging respect that day) and wrangling four hungry turtles.

Mikey began nodding off an hour after you before curling up against Raph (who had dozed off against your side of the couch in a display of solidarity), and when Donnie started yawning and April ate a face full of carpet trying to stay awake, Leo decided it was time to go home.

He gently roused everyone up, motioning to sleepy Raph to hike an even sleepier Mikey over his shoulder. When they were younger, he would do it himself, but Mikey was taller and even heavier than he was now. A bit of a pang hit his heart thinking about Mikey as a child, but he pushed it aside, allowing himself just a moment of softness as he nuzzled his forehead on his younger brother’s.

“They grow up so fast,” he murmured, a small smile on his face.

Raph just looked him over with a nod, knowing it better to just let Leo have this.

He shook it off, moving rhythmically around the room. With each pass, he picked up something new, rearranged furniture, swiped something interesting for later, eyed something that might be important, read any papers you had lying around. Not the most ethical way of gathering intel, and he _did_ feel a little bad about snooping, but Leo knows you just can’t trust everything people say, even if you have a reason to believe them.

He had almost no reason to believe _you._

So he doesn’t, and instead rifles through the sheaf of papers situated somewhat haphazardly on your kitchen island. “I see she pays her taxes on time… bills paid, bills, bills, more bills… a record of her purchases… ooo, with receipts? A schedule. Huh. List of homeless shelters…” Leo keeps shuffling through them, feeling his frustration build that he can’t find anything particularly incriminating.

“This girl is a fucking saint,” he mumbles, tempted to just stick his sword in the stack of papers as a warning.

“Why do you want her to be bad so bad anyway?” Raph asks through a great big yawn. 

Leo’s shoulders hunched and he sighed. “It would make it easier for when she inevitably betrays us, you know? Make it easier for all of us.” His voice comes out quieter than he expected, and Raph blinks at him.

“But you don’t know that’ll happen,” Raph simply replies, scooping a snoring Donnie into his arms. “and when— _if_ it happens, we’ll deal. We fight monsters for a living, bro.”

Leo stares after him, arms slowly wrapping around his torso. He feels cold and exposed in the room despite the warmth, despite the comfort his family provides. “Friends can be a different kind of monster, Raph.”

“That’s… dude,” Raph laughs, and despite the seriousness of it all Leo snorts. “don’t get all smart on me now.”

A smile, softer than he’s used to, warms his face. “Thanks for getting me out of my head, ya dingus.”

Raph claps him on the back, and despite years and years of it happening Leo is _still_ not prepared for the spike of pain. “Anytime.”  
——  
Days pass.

Leo keeps his eyes on you, marks where you go, keeps his brothers out of your path and his own always three steps behind. He can’t fear the things he knows.

You tell his brothers you’re going to be working after hours in the kitchen, just baking. You tell him, but not _him._ You tell him like it’s an afterthought. You’re so much warmer with his brothers. 

Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, Leo volunteers to go with. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen. Leo files your fear away like it’s an afterthought.  
——  
Leo stares at you, lazy and unblinking. He thinks he maybe left a lot unsaid a couple days ago, with you, with Raph, with Mikey and Donnie. He thinks maybe it’s the things he didn’t say, because whether you notice it or not, you pointedly keep your back from facing Leo completely, and sneak surreptitious glances when you think he isn’t looking. He thinks maybe he should try to be friendly. For Mikey’s sake, and for his, because if he gets your guard down…

Look. Leo _knows_ you’re just a regular human. He knows you don’t possess any particularly outstanding skills besides cooking, and knowing how to mince mushrooms doesn’t mean you’ll be able to stab him like somebody who’s been studying the art of the sword for years. Cough.

But he also knows you’re about as skittish as all hell, and he can feel the clock ticking in the back of his mind. How long? How long until you give up the ghost and line your pockets with mayoral cash? Get them thrown in jail, moved to a Study Center— Leo shudders. He’d do anything to keep his brothers out one of those. 

Maybe he’s paranoid. Maybe he’s just compensating for his fears. Splinter told him once, in a rare moment of sincerity, that he has a lot on his shoulders. That he has every right to be afraid, and hiding that fear will get him nowhere. That he’s got to embrace his fear as well as conquer it. 

Leo remembers swallowing, then, even though his throat felt dry, and now he thinks that was fear he felt sinking into his gut. It’s been festering inside him, indigestible, for years.

He shakes his head. No, he won’t let that get the best of him. He won’t let it jeopardize things. He won’t… uh… He hears something. It’s distracting.

“... hoping you try this?”

Oh. Huh. You’re… talking to him? And holding out a bowl. A sneaky little part of Leo says _it’s poisoned, they’re trying to kill you, she’ll make you sick,_ but Leo swallows the paranoia to join the fear and only asks what it is.

“Batter,” you say simply, making a little gesture for him to take the rest. Apparently you’ve been baking for a while. That frightens Leo, just for a moment, that he hasn’t noticed how much time has passed. “everyone likes batter.”

“Your experiences are not universal,” he grumbles under his breath, but still can’t stop the little curl of childlike excitement that makes him grab the bowl a little too eagerly. It’s been too long since he’s had good, decent batter that wasn’t a cheap knockoff or some burned concoction Raph and Mikey made because _neither of them can cook, no matter how many times they say otherwise._

He spoons it into his mouth, blatantly ignoring the actual spoon in your hand and humming with unabashed delight. “It’s been so long,” Leo mumbles, already trying to keep himself from just licking the damn thing clean.

You hum back, clearing things off the counter only to set it up again. “How long?”

“Too long,” Leo replies. “Like, way too fuckin’ long. God, this is so good. Tastes like cinnamon.”

You laugh. It’s genuine, Leo can tell, but you’re as tense as a bowstring. “Leo, why are you guarding me?”

And just like that, Leo tenses up too, but that sneaking anxiety making him clasp the bowl tighter doesn’t stop him from sneaking another taste.

He narrows his eyes. “What do you—“

“From what I understand, you guys leave often to do other things. And I’d think that, as the leader, you’d be gone a lot too.” Your hands whisk faster, gripping the new bowl you’d picked up tighter as you speak. “But you’re not. You’re shadowing me, or just with me, or asking April about me— which I know about, by the way, I hear everything, and—“

“Yo. Breathe.” Leo says, holding a hand out placatingly. “You’re spilling.”

“Ah.” Letting out a shaky laugh, you slowed your whisking and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous. It’s just that you’re here a lot, around me. I thought you’d be out… protecting our city or something. Do you not trust me?”

Despite everything he just thought, Leo leaps at the opportunity to reassure you. “No no no no! No, dude, we totally trust you.”

“We?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, but your tone falls so flat Leo knows you couldn’t possibly be asking anything.

“ _I_ trust you,” he corrects, and slides off the counter to step closer.“I totally trust you. I’m just not good at showing it these days.”

“April said something happened.” You don’t sound very imploring, just skeptic, and Leo bristles.

“Something did happen. And it’s none of your business,” he snaps, and you heave a shaky sigh.

“Leo, I—“ you start, but you cut yourself off. “how— how am I supposed to help you? How am I supposed to help if you won’t let me? Why won’t you let me be your friend?”

“You don’t have the right to know.” His voice is sharp, sharper than one of your knives, and it makes your hackles rise. You don’t understand. It’s not your fault that he doesn’t like you. You don’t _understand._

“What am I doing wrong?” It was a struggle to keep your voice level. You just wanted to understand. Days spent together, of time spent in close quarters with all four turtles, of Donnie’s arm draped over your shoulders, of Raph’s hand on your back flashes before your eyes.

“You “trust” me, but you don’t like me. And— and everybody else _does_ , except you won’t tell me what I’m doing wrong!” Your voice breaks with your desperation, and the words rush out of you in a flurry of emotion. “Just help me. Just tell me what I need to do, tell me what I’m not getting about you. I— I want to be your friend and I want to understand but you won’t let me.”

He snarls, gripping the bowl desperately in his hands. Leo just keeps fucking things up, it seems, and his clawed fingers dig into his palms. You’re right, he knows you’re right, but he’s loathe to admit it. It feels like giving you high ground. It feels like giving you an inch, and stripping away the armor for his soul, and to bare it to you in its most vulnerable fashion is where you take the mile; all you’ve been is sweet despite his suspicions, offering him food and cooking breakfast and being fucking nice. It’s insufferable.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Leo shouts angrily. “ _ **Fuck!**_ ” 

You’re staring at him, wide eyed and wary, and something rushes terrible and hot around Leo’s chest. “Look, I—“ He can’t look into your eyes. They’re stripping him down to his core, vulnerable and scared. 

“I’m trying,” he relents. “I can’t trust you. It’s— it’s not you, I’m just… afraid. Afraid of something. Not— not something, I know what happened, I just, I don’t want it happening again.”

His eyes close. He’s straining, bristling with effort, speaking through clenched teeth. “I know it’s not you. But every time I look at you, I see—“ Leo pauses, trembling. “I see what went wrong. And what could have happened. And I don’t—“ He blows air out his nose, hating himself for feeling like he’s about to cry. “I can’t. I can’t see that happen again. I can’t risk… When humans get close to us…”

He’s startled, startled by the slide of your warm hand up his arm. The touch is light, though as he doesn’t move it solidifies. He shudders, leaning into the warmth. “And if I like you…”

“It’s going to hurt,” you concede, gazing at him sympathetically. “I understand. But, Leo… You can’t treat everyone like a living threat. You don’t know that I’m going to betray you, I get that— except I don’t want to! I’ve spent how long with you now, and I haven’t! I— I’ve been trying so long to be your friend, and make you happy, and this whole time you’re afraid of something I haven’t done, because— because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Because you assume, as a human, I’m going to hurt you. Because that’s what we do.

I get that. I get that fear. But you can’t live like that, Leo. I won’t let you.”

You’ve moved up to his face now, cupping it gently, but still with quiet force, with drive, with determination to love and be loved. “I will do whatever it takes to prove I’m worth trusting. I will do whatever it takes to make you feel safe. Give me the word, Leo. Give me the word and I’ll pull the moon from the sky for you.”

His throat dries. The moon… the moon from the sky. He’s not sure if you meant that to be so heavy, or so dramatic. But he warms anyway, hand slowly rising to twine his fingers with yours against his face. It’s intense. It’s _scary._ That you’re willing to do so much for him. You’re looking at him like he’s precious, like he’s worth saving. Worth adoration. 

Leo always liked scary.

His fingers slip from yours and he pulls you into his arms, crushing you tight against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the curve of your neck. You’re flush against him, arms tucked between his body and yours, and Leo thinks idly he could hold you like this for just a little longer. “I’ll try. I know. I know it’s not you.”

“O—okay,” you reply, voice muffled against his chest. “hey, was I a little too intense back there? My neck feels wet.”

He laughs, squeezing you tighter before letting you go. 

When he looks up at the moon later that night, all he can think of is you.


End file.
